Letter
by ionizable
Summary: It all started with a letter from a coward who couldn't speak his mind.
1. Dear Lily

Dear Lily...

You don't know who I am.

It's incredibly difficult for me to write this out, because I'm not used to having my intimate thoughts out on paper, where anyone can see it. I still haven't decided whether or not I'll end up sending this to you.

Whether or not I send this to you, I should try to keep myself honest and concise. Often, I end up either saying the complete opposite of what I feel or blather on until I can't even remember what my point was.

So before I get any more sidetracked, I should say it straight out. I really like you, Lily.

I don't think we've ever really talked before. I mean, _really_ talked. Every single time I attempt a conversation with you, something happens. You become disinterested, or I lose my nerve and say something completely idiotic, or we end up standing in awkward silence.

The truth is, I'm much more of a writer than a speaker. When I talk under pressure, somehow, the words that are in my brain never make it down to my mouth. When I write, though, I'm a hell of a lot calmer. That's why, after _years_ of trying to tell you straight out how I feel, I'm resorting to this letter.

I know this makes me a coward, but I can't help it. You evoke such a strong feeling of nervousness from me that I don't know what to do.

I've liked you for years, Lily. Since I've never had so much as a decent conversation with you, this seems incredibly pathetic. Instead, for years, I've been watching you. Every day, I tell myself I'm helpless. Stalking you like this is scary – for you, I guess, and for me. I don't know the intimate details of your life, but I know your habits.

At first, what attracted me to you was your annoying habit of chewing on the end of your quill. I think I noticed it in third year, when I sat across from you in one of our classes. You'd chew on the end of that quill, and I would think, _What a disgusting habit_. But I kept watching you do it, and then I started to notice things about you. When you finally got a new quill, I was incredibly proud of myself for noticing. The habits that I noticed from then onwards aren't even flattering habits, or ones that hormone-driven boys are normally attracted to; just plain, ordinary, somewhat repulsive ones.

I promised myself that I would keep this short, but I can't seem to. My friends know as well as me that once I start on you, I can't finish until I exhaust myself. So even though my hand is cramping right now, I'm going to keep writing. Over four years of liking you has made me a coward for not telling you sooner, but it's also making me desperate to let you know before we graduate.

I'm fairly sure that if I continue any longer about you, you'll get bored and start skimming. Good student as you are, and Head Girl to boot, you're not perfect. I've noticed you in the library sometimes, and I've seen you just flip through a book when your eyelids start drooping. Myself, I could never work in the library. The utter silence and stipulation of work would make me drowsy. Instead, I always do my work in my dorm.

My dorm is probably the most comfortable place for me in the entire school. I don't have to worry about what other people think, or how I look, or how I'm acting; I can just let myself go. I think that would be really good for you, Lily. Sometimes, I can see little stress wrinkles around your eyes. I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but taking a little time out of sight would really help you a lot.

It's just occurred to me that what I'm writing is a love letter. How terribly clichéd is that? But I guess you can't really attach a cliché to people's feelings. I've seen how upset you get when people act in that typical way; boys try to act like gentlemen, and girls try to act like those brainless tittering socialites. But I think anyone can notice that the nerve that hurts you the most is the one that has to do with our Houses.

In James Potter's defence, he's trying to do what he was raised to think is right – protecting those that can't protect themselves, and speaking out for people that can't speak for themselves. But deferring to you, he _is_ misguided in who he believes is helpless and voiceless. You can't blame the poor boy; he has a crush on you the size of France. He'd _like _for you to be helpless, so he could prove his worth by saving you. Anyone can notice that, especially you.

But enough of speaking for James Potter, another boy who can't seem to say what he's actually thinking. Even if he would happen to send you a letter much like this, if he ended up signing it, you wouldn't give it a moment's glance.

One of your habits is to check the end of a book to see how it'll end. If it ends pathetically, or so you think, then you put it aside. If it ends sadly, then you measure the sadness to see if it's worth reading the whole book. And if it ends disappointingly, you throw it out. This letter, if signed by someone you decided you really didn't have the time to listen to, would be thrown out. So the ending for this particular story will be one that is somewhat sad; enough to make you judge that the rest of the letter is intriguing enough and the ending can be lived with.

I won't ask you to reply to me; I've long since given up entertaining notions of having you date me. In a rarely honest confession of mine, when I was in fifth year, I even fantasized someday of making you my wife. At 15, I'm sorry to say that I was a misguided lad.

Sincerely,

_ Unsigned._

* * *

To the nameless stranger...

Thank you_ever_ so much for telling me who you are. That certainly takes a load off my terrible stress, as you were so kind to point out.

Forgive me the extreme sarcasm. Would you know that when I'm faced with situations that I don't know how to handle, I lash out? This is definitely a situation that I cannot handle.

I've never received a love letter before; in fact, not one boy at this school has ever said so much to me as _Let's go out, huh?_ So I'm incredibly touched by your feelings, but also slightly miffed. Why can't you tell me who you are? If you are so concerned about me, you wouldn't let me waste my spare thinking time wondering who you are.

Pretty astute of you to notice my habits, especially the one about flipping to the end of a book. It's one that irks me, because it shows my weakness for happy, satisfying endings. I know that books are supposed to reflect reality, and share the trials of the heart and soul, but for me, it's more like an escape. So when I read your letter, I thought I had stumbled upon merely an excerpt of a book. It seemed that unreal.

It scares me, though, to correspond with someone that I don't know. For all I know, you _could_ be James Potter, or you could be Slughorn. Don't you think that ruins the storybook ending that you know I love so dearly? If I'm allowed to continue along this way, then in my mind I'll have built you up to be a perfect, handsome, and faultless man. Spare us both the disappointment, and please tell me who I have the pleasure of talking with.

On another note, I cannot forget exactly why you began this correspondence with me. I must say that I am sceptical about your feelings for me; beginning in _third_ year? When you were _thirteen_? When I was in fourth year, I had a similar sort of crush on Remus Lupin. It began with me noticing all his weird, quirky little habits, and I began to realize that I liked him. But it didn't last, because I realized that his quirky little habits were really quite unappealing. That's not to say he's not a decent person, but it's just not the same kind of like that you _believe_ you are afflicted with.

Myself, I am not a writer, as I'm sure you already know. So while I would_like_ to keep myself going, I can't. Brevity is a good thing, you know. Just not for essays.

Thus, I will conclude this letter with an unsatisfying end. I hope you found this on top of the Gryffindor house points hourglass. If you're not the person that began the correspondence with me, please leave the letter where you found it.

_ Lily_

* * *

A/N: I'm planning on _actually_ continuing this one. I wrote down all the titles of the chapters to follow, so maybe I can remember how the plot goes in a couple of weeks. If not, oh well. Tell me how you thought it was, so I can improve on it. Currently beating my beta to death, so she won't be editing for a while. Please shoot me when I am cognizant enough to realize I uploaded this. 


	2. I'm sorry

I'm sorry...

It was never my intention to pressure you into responding. This was merely a self-test; one where I decided I would finally find out if I had the courage to do what I've been contemplating for a year.

As if to contradict that, I anxiously watched your every move for days after I sent the letter. I tried to analyze your facial expressions, any hints of spacing out; part of me wants to blame it on post-letter-jitters, but I have to admit that I enjoyed watching you proceed throughout the day. I'm sorry if this terrifies you. I would be terrified, myself, of having my every move scrutinized. Please let me know if you want me to discontinue this shameful habit of mine.

Luckily, I_happened_ to see you place your response on top of your house points hourglass. It would be far more convenient, from now on, for you to place any response you decide to offer in the small nook to the left of the portrait of the juggling hag.

You often mentioned this exchange of letters as a sort of correspondence; I would be flattered for you to think of it as so. Once again, I wouldn't even dream of trying to pressure you into having feelings for me. For one thing, I know enough to realize that it would never lead to the ideal happy ending. For another, it would be just plain odd for a girl like you to fall in love with someone through a_correspondence_.

Instead, I'd like it very much if we could be friends. As the Americans say,_pen pals_. Correspondence buddies. Whichever term you feel the most comfortable with and the least creeped out by.

Once I've drawn that line between friends and hopeful romantics, I find it incredibly difficult to continue with topics of discussion. While it's easier for me to express my thoughts on paper instead of out loud, I'm ashamed to admit that often, I don't have very many worthwhile thoughts.

And so, to continue, let me begin by analyzing and responding to each item that you covered in your response to me. Rather uncreative, I know.

Your recurring target seems to be my lack of identity. Trust me when I say that both of us would be far happier if you didn't know who I was. I am not Slughorn, nor am I nearly as repulsive as that fat toad. At least, I hope I'm not. You might think of me as such if you were to know who I was, but I _hope_ the majority of the populace thinks of me as bearable. I'm not perfect, or handsome, or faultless. Well, I might just be a little handsome. I don't really know. I'm not that good at looking at guys and measuring their attractiveness.

And just as a heads-up, I won't be so foolish as to collect your letters nor drop off my letters when any Harry-Dick-Tom-you could spot me. I'm fairly confident that this way, this façade of us being passable friends can last.

I did notice that you tend to lash out when you are upset, or unable to think of a plausible situation. I think anyone would notice, actually, the way you constantly deal with James Potter. Being snappy is fine once in a while, but those of us that tend to not delve into the inner workings of your mind may not notice how you really are kind beneath the satire.

I think I noticed that crush you had on Remus Lupin in third year. I don't think it irked me or anything, since I didn't like you yet; but you know, you really broadcast it out every time you got near to him. I think he could tell too. I've always thought Remus has had abnormal senses when it comes to feelings and things.

But I think your point with that paragraph had to do with how one deludes one's self into liking someone just because they _think_ they might have some super-sensory deal going on with that person. Believe me; I really do have some super-sensory deal with you.

I completely agree. Being succinct is a talent I have yet to master. (Was that short enough?)

Between you and me, I like happy endings too. Once I read a book where the lead had an irrevocable crush on the girl of his dreams, but could never tell her, and in the end she married his best friend. He turned bitter and agnostic. I hated that book. Afterwards, I curled up into a ball in my bed and wondered if that would ever happen to me for two hours. So it's not that shameful for you to like happy endings; the book can display plenty of trials of the heart on the way to the happy ending. For me, that's the best kind of book you can read.

Once again,

_Unsigned_.

* * *

Do you realize exactly how odd this is?

We are communicating via secret notation, carefully stowing it away as we watch carefully for the person that may come retrieve it.

We slowly become friends, after a correspondence that has lasted for _two weeks_, and only on the fourth note.

We find ourselves _tapping into each other's psyches_... Unfortunately, I happen to be the kind of person that analyzes everyone else. Did you know that? I just realized yesterday, as I was reading over your letter for the sixth time.

What got me the most was your last blurb about happy endings. I've told myself all of that already, but I must admit it; I'm a _faux_ realist. I'd like to be a genuine realist, but the truth of the matter is, I'd much rather lose myself in fantasy. Speaking of which, that's my favourite genre. No doubt you've noticed.

Personally, I find it quite unfair that you know almost everything about me already, and I know practically zilch. You even knew which _bed_ was mine in the dorm. Otherwise, one of my dorm-mates would have found this letter. I've been meaning to ask you about that; did you get your owl to fly it in, or did you magic it in some other way?

I got carried away. My opening was actually supposed to lead into a vague apology, of sorts.

I've been sitting here in my room, trying to get some work done, like you suggested, and every time it registered in my consciousness that I was working _in my room_, I thought of you. Or, your letter.

Well, I suppose I have two apologies, then.

The first is this: I'm sorry, for not having replied earlier. To be truthful, I suggested this correspondence as a means of not outright rejecting you. Then, when I found that you had taken me up on this offer, I realized that I would actually be communicating with a person that_liked_ me. I didn't exactly know how to proceed, and thus I have not responded for a week since you sent me your letter.

And then the second; the second directly relates to the first. I had no idea how to handle you; as I explained before and as you also mentioned, I tend to lash out when I don't know what to do. That's why I was downright rude in my first letter, bordering on tolerant apathy. I apologize for that, and I agree with you when it comes to your comments.

I really haven't realized very much that people tend to see me as such a cruel person. But in the same manner that several students cannot speak under pressure, I cannot think on the spot. Speech comes easily; direct content does not. In that manner, I suppose, you and I are not so different. I guess it _really_ boils down to me having poor judgment when it comes to writing _and_ speaking.

I've realized that you are a _very_ mushy person, despite not being used to having your intimate feelings out on paper. Quote: "those of us that tend to not delve into the inner workings of your mind may not notice how you really are kind beneath the satire." End quote. I am appalled, yet mildly gratified.

I'm sorry to say that the satire becomes me; I am a very critical person despite my want for a fantasy happy ending. I could never tolerate those idiotic horoscopes, or those simpering fools that are depicted in films, expressing their emotions in public displays of affection and arguing over who should hang up last on the telephone. I sincerely hope you have the slightest idea as to what I'm talking about; if not, I strongly suggest you should sign up for Muggle Studies. I simply cannot tolerate those that do not have an appreciation, or even tolerance, of Muggles. I think you've noticed.

As to your pressing question, I do find myself minding ever so slightly that someone has been watching me; not so much the stalker-like characteristics, but mainly that most mornings I tend to not care about my makeup until later on in the day, when I am fully coherent. I suppose I should start making myself fully coherent all the time, then. In answer to your query, no, you do not have to stop. I fully know how irresistible it is to watch someone, especially if you like that person.

Often, I find myself watching people that merely intrigue me – whether they disgust me, astonish me, or simply are attractive to me. For example, (yes, this is quite cruel), that girl. Cee Wilkes. Isn't her full name Cindy Wilkes? Some full name. Anyway, the way she acts is completely foreign and unrecognizable for me. Sometimes she acts like a model, as if everyone is watching her. Unfortunately, that pulls my attention. But she disgusts me. Pardon the bluntness; no satire included.

And besides; if I look around enough, I'll start to notice a boy watching me. Unless you aren't a male, in which case, I fully understand why this relationship cannot work out. Pleased to make (and keep) your acquaintance. And if you are Cindy Wilkes, I apologize. I meant that you are so _confident_ in yourself; I can't help but envy you and disgust myself in that envy. Yes.

It's too bad I used up all my anti-ink.

So before I blunder any longer, I shall complete this response. I think I've made you anxious enough in waiting.

But then again, if you really were incredibly anxious, you would have set another letter in there already. Speaking of which, I haven't checked yet.

_Lily_

P.S. Where on _earth_ did you find that nook? Were you wandering the school for hours, looking for something like that? How dreadful. I would never be able to find something like that, much less notice and remember. Not that I'm not grateful, of course.

* * *

A/N: And so concludes yet another chapter. I really hope I can stick through with this story. I should really start studying for finals about now. Well, then, more suggestions are welcome. Realized last night that I could have asked someone to co-write this with me. Bleh. The whole thing _looks_ like it'll be about 8 chapters. Could be a bit much for me. 


End file.
